Talking With Grief
by Silver Mearas
Summary: Harry is coping terribly with the loss of Sirius, but there is only one person who is aware of this. When Lupin arrives at the Dursleys to take Harry away, he is not just doing it on Dumbledore's orders, but for other reasons too...
1. Anger, Sorrow, and Hatred

**Talking With Grief: Chapter 1 (Anger, Sorrow and Hatred)**

_Disclaimer: The text that you recognise is in Italics and taken from The Order of the __Phoenix__ and belongs to Joanne Rowling and Jo Rowling alone. (Who on earth else would be able to write such fantastic stuff?) All the characters also belong to J.K.  _

_Spoilers: Huge Order of the __Phoenix__ spoilers (although I'm sure by now that everyone has read it)._

_Author's Note: Hullo, this certainly isn't my first fic, but it's the first I've put up fanfiction.net. In other words, it's my first attempt at posting fanfiction and sharing it with others besides that of my sister's eyes. I've had the idea of this fic for quite a while, although I only decided to try and take a stab at it myself a few weeks ago. This is my most recent piece of writing, and though the way it is written is strange to even myself, I hope it will be easy to get to grips with._

_This first chapter is a shortish one and is mainly Harry reliving the terrible moment of when Sirius died. And don't worry if you are slightly alarmed by Harry in this chapter – I'm not trying to let insanity take over him. Let's just say that he's very troubled at the moment. Well, not surprising really, now that his poor, lovely godfather Padfoot has gone :(.    _

_Anyway, I would very much appreciate reviews! And of course, comments on how I could improve my writing. Thanks :-)._

_***_

_"Come on, you can do better than that!" he yelled, his voice echoing around the cavernous room.___

_The second jet of light hit him squarely on the chest. The laughter had not quite died from his face, but his eyes widened in shock._

And still Harry could not stop watching, listening. Watching the gaunt, pale face which formerly belonged to his once-living godfather, and reluctantly listening to that short bark of laughter which was familiar, but in a sense was not.

_It seemed to take Sirius an age to fall: his body curved in a graceful arc as he sank backwards through the ragged veil hanging from the arch._

No matter how hard Harry tried to turn away, not to view the loss scene, he could not. Maybe it was because he was desperate for any trace of life in Sirius, or to remember how it had been when he had not been dead, and so he kept experiencing his godfather's last few moments of life. But this wasn't the part he wanted to remember – it was torture. Every time he found himself in that same room, that one terrible room, he tried to move his feet – to warn Sirius what was about to happen, but the memory never pushed its way far back enough.

_There was a distinct look of mingled fear and surprise on his godfather's wasted, once-handsome face as he fell through the ancient doorway and disappeared behind the veil, which fluttered for a moment as though in a high wind, then fell back into place._

_Harry heard Bellatrix Lestrange's triumphant scream, but knew it meant nothing – Sirius had only fallen through the archway, he would reappear from the other side any second._

_But Sirius did not appear._

Harry knew – he knew that how ever many hundreds of times he desperately hoped and wished, it was always the same. Sirius never appeared. He never again would.

But maybe this time – this time he would come back! The curtain would swish aside, and there would be Sirius, with a huge doglike grin on his face, ready to triumphantly strike Lestrange. A false hope rose in Harry, filling him with bursting desire greater than any he had felt before. Desire to see Sirius do just that – reappear from behind the curtain. But maybe he needed aid; he needed Harry's voice to sound to help Sirius to reawaken.

_"SIRIUS!" Harry yelled. "SIRIUS!"_

_He had reached the floor, his breath coming in searing gasps. Sirius must be just behind the curtain, he, Harry, would pull him back out –_

_But as he reached the ground and sprinted towards the dais, Lupin grabbed him around the chest, holding him back._

_ "There's nothing you can do Harry –"_

_ "Get him, save him, he's only just gone through!"_

_ "– it's too late Harry."_

_ "We can still reach him –" He struggled hard and viciously, but Lupin would not let go…_

_ "There's nothing you can do, Harry… nothing… he's gone..."_

'He's gone.'

These words echoed continuously around Harry's troubled mind until he could stand no more. Scrambling out of bed, he landed on the carpeted flooring with a soft thud. He had to do something, anything that would stop this torture! He wanted to forget about Sirius's death, he wanted to remember the times when Harry was with him and he was alive, even if those times had not been many. He wanted Sirius present. He needed Sirius present.

Harry paced his small, plain bedroom with his hands on the back of his pounding head tightly, trying to squeeze out the thoughts that would not leave him in peace.

He could not carry on for the remainder of the summer holidays like this. After all, it was only the slow beginning of his third dreaded week back here at the Dursleys. He was absolutely exhausted; so far he had not managed to sleep properly at all, and when he was on the brink of falling into slumber, his mind always returned to that same scene, reminding him of it just when his mind was about to close down to tiredness.

Only one thing would prevent him from turning insane… pretending that Sirius was still present.

Flinging himself on the chair to his desk, he unravelled a piece of parchment and took some ink and the eagle feathered quill that Hermione had given him as a Christmas present a couple of years ago. Judging by the light outside, Harry guessed that the dark hours of this unpleasant night would soon be drawing to a close, and dawn would take its place, followed by another long suffering day.

After a few moments of thought, Harry dipped his quill in his ink and started to write:

**_Dear Sirius…_**

****

Harry wondered how many times he had written that now. Quite a few. He knew he was being totally stupid, the deceased could not read letters, but he could not prevent himself. He felt as if he had no control.

It had been earlier in the morning than Harry had thought, for he had sat here for hour after hour, but the quill did not cease in scribbling away. In his previous letters to Sirius he had been quite limited in everything he had to say, in case the letters were intercepted or something. But now he didn't care; the thoughts in his mind flowed out onto the parchment endlessly.

He finally finished the three parchment long letter, signing off his name at the bottom as always, when there was a sharp tapping on his bedroom door – the tap that unmistakably belonged to Aunt Petunia.

"Get up, boy!" Aunt Petunia's shrill voice shrieked from the other side. "And hurry up, breakfast in five minutes."

Harry sighed and folded up his letter, calling Hedwig softly to him.

"Did you hear me?" barked Aunt Petunia.

"Yes, I'm coming, I'm coming," replied Harry heavily, getting to his feet and moving to the window.

Clumsily, he tied the note to Hedwig's leg as she stared up at him with those round amber eyes, showing what appeared to be pity. He finished what he was doing and looked at her, stretching out his arm in advance.

"I want you to take this note to Sirius for me,_" Harry said firmly. He was completely drained of energy; even Hedwig's light weight on his arm was an aching strain. _

Hedwig continued to gaze at him for several moments, as if Harry had not given an instruction at all, and she was still waiting to hear it. Harry sighed yet again. He did not have the patience, but did not have the energy to show signs of irritation.

"Hedwig, please – take the letter to Sirius," Harry repeated tiredly. "And don't look at me like that."

She nipped his finger sharply. This was usually a sign of affection, but it looked as if she was trying to let him know something. Harry reached out and stroked her soft, silky feathers gently, feeling a sense of warmth.

"Look, I know… I know that Sirius is… no longer here." He gulped and shut his eyes for a second or two. "But just get it to him, OK?"

Hedwig hooted in a low, misunderstanding way, but even so, she crouched down on Harry's arm and took flight, her snowy figure souring out of the window and into the distance.

Harry gazed into the paling blue sky for a few moments. Why did he have to have this life? Why was the world so cruel to him alone? What had he ever done to deserve this pain he was suffering? And nothing could help.

He sighed again just as Aunt Petunia rattled on his wooden door once more, banging it almost hard enough to force it off its hinges.

"WHAT do you WANT?" Harry yelled, breaking out of his dreamy trance and turning to face the vibrating door angrily with his fists coiling almost threateningly.

"I told you to get ready!" shrieked Aunt Petunia. "It's Dudder's birthday today. You've supposed to have made breakfast by now!"

"Yeah, well, good for him," Harry mumbled under his breath, grabbing some clothes out of his old and chipped Chester-drawers.

"Now get your lazy, pathetic self out of that room, and get down to the kitchen in two minutes!"

"I'm not making breakfast for everybody else," said Harry irritably.

"You will do as you are told, boy."

"You can't force me, I'm not your slave," retorted Harry loudly, at that moment hearing a heavy stomping crashing nearing to his room, landing on every stair with a creaking bash. Yep, that was most likely to be Uncle Vernon arriving upstairs to rage and spit at him. And sure enough, Uncle Vernon's harsh tones sounded through to Harry, muffled slightly through the wooden door.

"What's going on, Petunia, dear?" he enquired, although Harry had a feeling he knew damn well that Harry was choosing to be stubborn to Aunt Petunia's requests, (well, stubborn in their eyes)  otherwise, he wouldn't have been bothered to gather himself up from that lousy armchair of his and proceed up the stairs. 

The fact was that Uncle Vernon loved to bully him, even if Harry wasn't going to stand for it anymore. Harry would have thought that after his strict warning from Moody, Tonks, Lupin and Mr Weasley at Kings Cross station, he would have settled down a bit and let Harry be. Indeed, at the time, he had looked mighty horrified, especially at the sight of Mad-Eye's revolving eye spinning around in its socket (Harry didn't exactly blame him for that, the sight of that eye certainly creeped him out sometimes).     

But Uncle Vernon seemed to be taking no notice of it at all, as if he'd forgotten – and was treating Harry as badly as ever, in fact, it was probably actually worse than before.

"Vernon, I want everything to be perfect today, for little Dudley's birthday –" Aunt Petunia told him in a cross manner.       

'Little Dudley?' thought Harry with a smirk; his cousin was hardly little any more, not that he ever had been of course. 

She continued shrilly, "– But this ungrateful child inside this room – the room that we have generously lent to him – refuses blankly to do as I have asked! Not even accepting that it is his job today to prepare breakfast for our family."

Harry rolled his eyes exasperatedly at this and slumped down on his bed, abandoning all ideas of getting dressed and preparing to block his ears and shut himself off. 

"Boy!" roared Uncle Vernon, so thunderously that Harry could have sworn that Hedwig's empty cage rattled on top of the wardrobe. "You will do as your Aunt and I say! Do you hear me?"

"How could I not hear you?" replied Harry through clenched teeth. Why couldn't they just leave him alone?

"You will not speak to me like that! You will get down here, right now, and make the breakfast as we have instructed you to do so. I want it ready in fifteen minutes."

 "As I've already told my dearest Aunt," said Harry very sarcastically. "I'm not making breakfast for everybody else whilst watching that selfish pig of a cousin open present after present, and not even being grateful for it."

He knew he had gone too far. There was a long silence in which he anticipated the huge storm to follow, but it didn't come in the way he had expected.

"Fine," Uncle Vernon said softly but sneeringly. "All right then. _Fine. You refuse to do what we kindly ask of you, we refuse to do as your nasty little friends ask of me. No food from us for a week. Scavenge in the dustbins for all I care! You'll find more food there than you're going to get from us, and _that's_ if I allow you outside." _

And Harry heard him stomp off again, surprised that he didn't actually care now. Deciding to voice this out loud, he shouted after him…

"Fine – you do that! I don't care anymore, I don't care about anything or anyone. You let me starve, I'm not bothered! I'm not bothered at all…" His voice became hoarse and suddenly broke and poured out mixed feelings, they trickled through his veins like lethal poisonous blood, causing them to swell with anger, sorrow and hatred; he felt like he was going to burst with emotion. 

***

****


	2. Disturbing Thoughts

**Talking With Grief: Chapter 2 (Disturbing Thoughts)**

_Author's Note: OK, short Author's note cos I'm a bit pressed for time. Hello readers, second chapter! I'm not too happy about this chapter for some strange reason that I can't explain, but I did it in a rush, I suppose. Lupin still isn't here, but he will be entering in the third chapter, so rest assured, he will be here soon as I'm sure some of you will be glad to hear. Yay, Lupin! Ahem… _

_Still Harry and his thoughts: some thoughts on the prophecy this time though. He's extremely bored in the confinement to his room, as I'm sure we all know the feeling sometimes. Thank you for your reviews, but please feel free to keep doing so. Enjoy! _

_***_

Harry found himself at his desk yet again, parchment smoothed out on the old knotted wood, quill rolled off onto the carpet where he had not been bothered to pick it up. He had supposed that he ought to write to Lupin, as it had been four days since they had last heard of him, and Tonks had made him promise that he would write every three days so they knew that he was all right. 

But what was going to happen to him? Dumbledore had _told him that he was totally safe at the Dursleys, apart from the possible threat of Uncle Vernon's spit frothing over Harry's face enough to make him sick of course. However, with this fresh letter, he wasn't getting very far at all; he was simply stuck for words in the deepness of his grief and despair. _

Gathering what little energy he had about him, once he had awoken from his thoughts a little, he bent down and picked up his abandoned quill. Trying to force himself to concentrate, he rested his hand on the table and effortlessly wrote in untidy, small writing:- 

**_Dear Lupin –_**

**_Things are fine here at the Dursleys, they are treating me surprisingly pleasantly. I'm fine too; I'm enjoying my holidays thoroughly. _****_Dudley_****_ had his birthday yesterday, although I spent most hours up here in my bedroom. This year he got 39 presents, and that's not even including the smaller ones. Well, better go. Say hi to Tonks and Mad-Eye for me, and Mr and Mrs Weasley if you see them. Hopefully I will see Ron and Hermione soon, although the weeks have been passing slowly. Hope everything is going well. – Harry_**

He read it through once more and folded it up. Yes, that would do, it showed that he was all right and that everything was OK– didn't give anyone any reason to worry. Harry got up and made his way to the window where the daytime sky was just starting to turn a darker blue, stringed with the thin wisps of floaty white cloud. Of all the hours he spent here, he liked the evenings the best… nobody disturbed him, as they were all too busy with their eyes glued to the TV screen. 

Hedwig had returned the day before, only four hours after Harry had sent her off to deliver that letter to Sirius, and to Harry's surprise, the letter had been removed from her foot, which meant somebody must have read it. He groaned when he suddenly thought of this…what had he done? People were going to think him a crazy lunatic! Maybe they would even try to hospitalise him in St. Mungo's, but no, that was just being stupid again. 

Even so, he wondered who it was that Hedwig had taken the letter to. Whoever it was was quite near to 4 Privet Drive, as it usually took much longer than four hours for his snowy owl to make the journey to her destination and back again. She was now out hunting again, even though it was still evening time. Harry had a slight pang of guilt at this, for he had snapped harshly at her when she had been prancing around in her cage out of boredom; she had caused quite a few owl droppings and a bit of dirty straw to land on his floor, which had annoyed him immensely.

He lay on his bed, waiting for Hedwig to return, and trying in vain to force his mind to remain blank and empty. It was a while before she finally did soar back through the window, in a blur of white movement, and glide onto Harry's bed beside him, staring up at him unblinkingly with her sharp stare.

"Hullo Hedwig," Harry murmured, stroking her gently below her wing. He heaved himself off the bed, opened his drawer and retrieved a few owl treats from the packet that Ron had given him. Apparently they had made Pigwidgeon giddier than normal – which Harry found hard to believe – so in effort to prevent Pig from zooming around the room at a hundred miles per hour, he had offered them for Hedwig, who seemed to find them extremely tasty.

Hedwig accepted the treats gratefully, also, it seemed, seeing it as Harry's apology. She hopped up onto his knee.

"Can you deliver another letter for me?" asked Harry, folding up the already crumpled note to Lupin which he had clasped in his hand for the last half an hour or so. "Can you take this to Lupin? I know you've had quite a few jobs in the past couple of weeks, but they want to be reminded that I'm all right here."

Hedwig hooted softly in the way she usually did, and as she did so, Harry realised that she did look tired. Lupin, Ron, Hermione and Hagrid had insisted that letters from him were to be received frequently until he was taken to The Burrow. Unfortunately for his owl, she was the only means of communication Harry had; Uncle Vernon would not let him use the telephone. 

"Thanks," he called as she swooped out through the window yet again. He was sorry to see her go. At the moment she made extremely nice company.

All of a sudden, the door burst open and Uncle Vernon strode in, his face twisted in a disgusted way, which of course, was not uncharacteristic.

"What do you want?" asked Harry, surprised. He couldn't have possibly done anything wrong up here, he hadn't left his room for two days. He glanced at the old tray that his Uncle was holding, puzzled. Was he accusing him of sneaking food out of the fridge or something?

"Food," said Uncle Vernon shortly. His neat moustache twitched slightly – so unlike the way that Professor Dumbledore's did when his headmaster found something slightly humorous – and Harry knew that behind it, his face was working terribly to boom an accusation at him instead of doing something for Harry's own good. Well, he was definitely doing this against his true will, that was certain. 

Harry had reverted to throwing bits of tissue at the mirror (trying to hit his nose) for the past few days for entertainment. His boredom was mounting due to the imprisonment in this room – as hungry as he was, he didn't want to miss a chance to wind Uncle Vernon completely up the wall. But his Uncle spoke before he did.

"Who were you talking to?" he snarled, thrusting the tray into Harry's arms which knocked him onto his bed, and towering over him… which was probably to try and gain some authority over him, Harry thought with a slight grin.

"Me?" Harry questioned, trying to sound puzzled. He looked from left to right in exaggerated movements. 

"Yes, you! Don't play thick with me!" spat Uncle Vernon. 

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Harry mildly, as innocently as he could make his voice sound. 

"You were just talking to somebody inside this room! I could here you from half way down the blasted hall!" 

"Ohhh, you mean that_ I_ was talking to someone. _I_ was talking to my friend Ron through a special way of Wizard communication. His dad – Arthur Weasley – just wondered why I hadn't phoned Ron or Hermione up yet, that's all," said Harry with a swift smile.

Uncle Vernon paused, opening and shutting his mouth like a scarlet, blubbering goldfish. Harry could have sworn that his eyes were bulging out a little more than usual.

"You shouldn't push your luck," snarled his Uncle. He had obviously found nothing to say to his nephew's last remark, and he turned on his heel and walked stiffly out of Harry's room. The possibility of Arthur Weasley turning up – as he had threatened at the train station – was too much for Vernon Dursley to bear. He had already been through that escapade in the holidays before Harry's fourth year, when Mr Weasley and his sons had arrived by Floo Network to take Harry away ready to go to the Quidditch World Cup. Harry felt a small surge of triumph as he watched him leave.  

"I thought you said that I wouldn't be getting any food from you?" Harry called loudly as his Uncle slammed the door. He heard Uncle Vernon stop dead in his tracks, but after a moment of two of silence, he carried on walking down the hall at a quicker pace. 

Harry scrambled back to sit on his bed properly and looked down at the grey tray of food he was holding. You could hardly call it a very nutritious meal: Aunt Petunia had placed a small pile of plain over-cooked cabbage in the middle of his plate, with a big scoop of sloppy, watery mashed potato on top. Still, Harry wasn't complaining; the last time the Dursleys had given him any trace of food whatsoever had been yesterday morning at breakfast time, so that was two days he had gone without any food (besides his small stack of sweets left over from last year of course, which he hadn't really been in the mood to touch) and his stomach was growling hungrily.

He dived in to his uninteresting meal and gobbled it up enthusiastically, taking small sips from the cup of fresh orange, which strangely enough tasted like it was a good couple of days off. After he had finished and there was not the tiniest lump of potato left, he put down his tray with a clatter, pulled himself into his pyjamas and got into bed. It was only five o'clock at night, but there was nothing else to do, and Hedwig wasn't likely to return for a few hours at the least. It was still light; Harry pulled the covers over his head and shut his eyes, doubting very much that he was going to sleep.

For the first time since the third term at Hogwarts had ended, Harry found his thoughts drifting to Voldemort. He had thought about him before of course, after all that Dumbledore had told him – but that had been the last few days of school. All his thoughts lately had been based around Sirius, and nobody else – nothing else mattered. 

But, he realised, it was important to think things through, because in the end, whether it was soon or far off into the future, Harry and Lord Voldemort would have to confront each other in some way, and that would either change – or end – Harry's life forever. But it couldn't end Harry's life, for then Voldemort would win, and then there would be no stopping him either. He hadn't actually realised at the time when Dumbledore had told him all this, that he would most likely be handling the lives of all the people in this world in this, and that meant wizards, witches and muggles alike. He would have to win, otherwise . . . well who knows what would happen. 

And he needed to win for himself too, to make Voldemort pay for what he had done, and of course his followers – his Death Eaters: Bellatrix Lestrange and Wormtail in particular. If it wasn't for all three of those people he hated most – James Potter, Lily Potter, and Sirius Black would still be present right now, and what a happier life he would have led if they were. His Father, Mother, and his godfather would be here, and he would have actually had the chance to know them all so much better than he did. That, of course, would mean that he would have to kill; he didn't want to kill, but was there any other way? 

Something small in all of this was bothering him immensely, and it triggered off in his mind. He would have to tell Ron and Hermione about the prophecy and everything else that he had shockingly discovered, that he wasn't here to lead a normal life, not even to be an Auror, his only purpose here was to destroy something evil. That was all that life was to claim of him. 

He wondered if anybody else knew what the full prophecy had contained, besides Dumbledore – if his headmaster had told anybody else. He doubted it somehow, but everyone had certainly known that there was a prophecy, some kind of prophecy. They had called it a weapon, a weapon that Voldemort had needed to claim. Harry had been so curious back then - when Lupin and Sirius had let him know some of the finer points about the Order – curious to know what the weapon was, but now he wished that Dumbledore had never let him know, his life had hardly been filled with happiness before that, but now he felt it was going to be disastrous. Ron and Hermione needed to know… but how was he to tell them? He was to be a victim, or a murderer. To them, his two best friends, this would be extremely disturbing news.

Harry bit his lip worryingly; it was possible that soon he would not exist, but at the moment, he did exist, so perhaps he just had to concentrate on now. He rolled over onto his front and buried his face in the pillow, pulling the covers more tightly over his head. He had very confused and concerned thoughts: Voldemort… the current evil that was present… his close encounters with him already had been hard enough… and Wormtail… was he only loyal to Voldemort through fear? … Or perhaps just with him now as a last resort to carrying on his life? … Bellatrix … she was as evil as Voldemort … he had no reason to be scared of her though… but she killed Sirius… she _killed Sirius… for that, Harry thought, she _would_ pay…_

***


	3. Arrival in the Darkness

**Talking With Grief: Chapter 3 (Arrival in the Darkness)**

_Author's Note: Hey there, Harry Potter maniacs - hope all of you obsessed fans are well, and still reading the Order of the Phoenix a million times over as I am doing. Cannot get enough of that book, it's absolutely amazing! _

_Here we are, Chapter Three (I haven't yet thought up names for my chapters, but as soon as I do I promise I will edit, I know titles for chapters make them much more interesting)._

_Lupin is finally here, woohoo! How I love him :). Unfortunately, he's not as Lupin-like as I would've liked to have made him, but I tried my best, and I suppose that's what counts. So I'm really sorry if you were eagerly awaiting a lovely characteristic Remus! I'll work extra hard next time to edit what's already on paper and 'Lupinise' him more.  He doesn't actually say much in this chapter anyway, he's just being introduced; he's arrived at __4 Privet Drive__ to take Harry away but he's kind of in a pressurised situation so he's a little tense._

_The fourth chapter will probably take a little longer to get uploaded, as I'm going for a two week holiday to Wales (yes, Wales, I love it there!) and as much as I'd love to bring my computer along with me, obviously it is not an option. Although it's a good place to write, is __Wales__! _

_If you do read this, please spare a little effort to review, even if it's just a tiny, one-worded sentence, as it's what keeps me writing and uploading. Thank you._

_***_

Harry remained with his eyes shut tightly, buried underneath his warm thick covers, merely pretending that he was asleep.

The fact that he had some kind of awareness that there was another being in the room happened to be ignored, as he had a nagging thought in his troubled mind that it was simply his over-active imagination again. Lately, he felt these senses too often. Perhaps he had just picked them up from his 'action-packed, heroic adventures' as Ginny Weasley had once called them. But to Harry they were not adventures, not anymore, they were horrors . . .

He was sure that the thing was gaining closer – sure that he could feel its soft footsteps on the carpet, its light silenced breathing, its –

"– Harry!" an urgent voice whispered, jerking Harry out from his terror-filled thoughts. "Harry, are you awake?" the hoarse voice sounded again from the outside of Harry's dark protective tent of covers, the tone sounding hurried and slightly anxious. Yet it was familiar…

The duvets were yanked aside from his weak clutch by firm hands, but it was too dark to make out who it was.

"Wake up, Harry, we haven't got much time."

A hand reached out from nowhere and shook his shoulder gently. Harry started and scrambled up into a sitting position, battling with the sheets to untwist himself. There was no doubting in whom that voice belonged to now, it was one of the most welcoming voices that he would have liked to hear…

"Professor Lupin?" said Harry in mild surprise. He stuck out his left arm and groped around the cold dusty surface of his bedside cabinet for his glasses. Finding them, he pushed them up his nose with his index finger and looked around wildly to see a figure standing over him. There was none. Maybe it was just too dark.

"Yes, it's me," Lupin answered quickly and quietly. "But I'm still under Mad-Eye's Invisibility Cloak… Harry, you need to get dressed and come with me straight away. I'll explain everything when we're out of this area, but you will need to hurry."

"OK," said Harry, extremely puzzled and shocked. He leapt out of bed and rubbed his eyes to try and motivate himself. He hadn't been sleeping, but as he was suffering from the lack of it he felt dizzy and tired. "Where are we going?"

"I will tell you as soon as we get out of here," Lupin repeated, emerging from beneath the Invisibility Cloak and pulling out his wand from inside his shabby green robes. "It's currently much too risky… _Lumos." _

The dim green light stretched out into all dark corners of the room, illuminating the creases in Lupin's young but weathered face, and the streaked lines of silvery grey in his light brown hair.

"Did you not get my letter or something?" asked Harry suddenly, blinking painfully in the light. He was confused as to why Lupin had arrived in the middle of the night, and without letting him know that he was doing so.

"The last one?" said Lupin, frowning slightly. "Yes, I believe I did, it arrived just as I was about to walk out of the door."

"Then why –?"

"I'd better get all of your things piled into your trunk. You pull some layers on… it may be summer but I find it can be quite chilly these nights," stated Lupin, dragging out Harry's trunk form inside the battered old wardrobe.

Harry didn't argue or question, but did as instructed; obviously there was a reason for not discussing it here. Lupin was as calm as he always was, but he did seem a little tense. Pulling on a pair of baggy old jeans, a T-shirt, and a thick warm jumper over his pyjamas, he found his wand in his drawer and emptied out some of his clothes and books, which flung untouched into his stacking trunk. Lupin fastened and locked it with his wand once no more of Harry's possessions were being summoned into it, and turned to face him.

"Are you ready?" asked Lupin, after distinguishing his wand.

"Yeah… I think so," Harry mumbled, glancing around. "Hedwig hasn't –"

"She'll find you, don't worry about her," Lupin cut across, motioning for Harry to hurry.

"Right." 

Harry grabbed a pair of knobbly grey socks and his worn out trainers and shoved them on his feet. He heaved Hedwig's empty cage under one arm and walked out, so glad to finally be leaving his bedroom that he didn't even glance backwards.

Behind him, he heard Lupin mutter, "_Locomotor trunk_." Harry remembered Tonks using that spell when they had come to fetch him last summer. He hadn't been told that they were arriving to pick him up then either, but there had been many more witches and wizards to accompany Lupin with taking him away. He could now see out of the corner of his eye his trunk hovering in mid-air, completely unsupportively. A thought suddenly struck him.

"Will I not need my Firebolt?" whispered Harry, half-turning to face Lupin in the darkness of the hall.

"No, we're not travelling by broomsticks tonight. We're getting there by Portkey. Dumbledore set it up for us," replied Lupin in a low voice.

Harry, carrying his wand in his right hand, led the way downstairs and into the silent kitchen, where he automatically made to switch on the light, but was stopped by Lupin…

"Ah – Harry, wait!" he said suddenly, causing Harry's hand to trail down the wall and back down to his side. "I think it's best if we were to leave it dark." 

Harry noticed him squint around to check that the curtains were closed, before propping a small, emerald green envelope labelled 'Mr and Mrs Dursley' next to the salt and pepper pots in the middle of the kitchen table.

He opened his mouth to ask what was written in the letter before Lupin again stated that they needed to make haste. He was looking at a kind of wristwatch that Harry had never seen anything like before. Yet there was no time to ponder or admire watches, Lupin was now giving him clear instructions, and was watching Harry intently to check that he was paying full attention.

"Did you understand all of that?" he asked finally.

"Er – I think so," answered Harry, even though – truthfully – it had gone right over his head. Lupin sighed heavily.

"Well, we'd better get going, otherwise we'll be late for the Portkey and goodness knows what we will do then. Come on, Harry," said Lupin, making his way through the kitchen and hall to the front door, dragging Harry's trunk behind him. He put some kind of spell on the trunk (Harry thought it was something like, '_Evanesco,_' but Lupin was still talking in half-whispers) and it turned invisible all of a sudden, causing it to look as though his former Professor was gripping nothing in his hand.

Lupin carefully and steadily opened the front door so that it did not make a noise, and pushed the invisible trunk onto the doorstep outside. He held the door to, whilst beckoning Harry towards him and throwing Moody's Invisibility Cloak over them both.

Harry imagined Alastor Moody to be extremely wary once Lupin returned the cloak to him; he would probably check it fifty times over for any signs of 'Stealthy Skin-Melting Potion' drops. Well, thought Harry, at least he would then have the opportunity to grow some fresh skin at St. Mungo's. It would certainly lose him the knarled and torn look which often caused his appearance to be somewhat frightening…

But of course, Lupin would not possess such a potion anyway, whether he had once belonged to a troublesome group of practical jokers or not. Now, though – the two practical jokers who had been Lupin's best friends were gone, to live no more. And Wormtail… no – that was wrong. Harry flatly refused to associate Pettigrew with James, Sirius, and Remus anymore. It was better to pretend that he had always been a filthy, cowardly server for Voldemort: one belonging to the enemy. Wormtail did not deserve to be held in remembrance as once a friend of his Father's. He was a traitor – nothing more, nothing less. Harry would never again show mercy to him. Sometimes it was he that he hated the most… more than Voldemort, even.

Harry hadn't a clue how long they had been walking, he did not even recognise where they were, and he had spent the entire previous summer strolling these streets through boredom. 

Lupin had not uttered a word since they had exited through the front door and entered the dark, eerie night, which had sent a tremendous, chilling shudder through Harry's bones, awakening him to the cold. This was defiantly not a warm summer.

It was not very easy to walk underneath the Cloak with Lupin whilst being extremely careful to prevent it form slipping off. Fair enough – he, Ron and Hermione occasionally roamed different areas of Hogwarts with his Cloak covering all three of them, but they were all roughly around the same height. Lupin was a fully-grown man and quite a bit taller than himself. 

The two walked in an orderly fashion: Lupin behind Harry with one hand on his shoulder, which he was using to stir Harry in the right direction – down endless dark, littered streets.

Harry longed to ask where they were going, and especially how much longer it would take to get there – surely it couldn't be much further, could it? He felt cold, exhausted, and drained of energy; although sleep was never an option anymore, a warm comfortable bed sounded extremely welcoming right now. However, the tight grip that Lupin maintained on his shoulder was almost a warning as not to say anything at all, and Lupin would not be in an anxious hurry for no reason whatsoever. So Harry accepted that he was expected to carry on walking in silence, despite the time, coldness, and the fact that he was completely un-notified of what was going on.

Further down the street they came to a gate which led through to a public park. Lupin encouraged Harry through the gate, giving him a little push with his hand to keep him moving. Harry – who had being trying to figure out why he had no recollection of this park at all – suddenly had a major jolt of remembrance run through him. Of course he knew where he was! Lupin must have just taken him round the long way…

He squinted around in the darkness to make out the trees – mysteriously stretching out their long, spidery branches as if trying to expand twistingly up to the starry night's sky – silhouetted against the bright silvery moonlight which had suddenly reappeared from behind a cloud. Harry looked elsewhere; the life-like figures were scary and threatening as they strolled – invisible but undefended – across the vastness of the park. Why had Lupin brought him here of all places?

They walked over to a clump of overgrown shrubs behind a bench, and Lupin forced him down onto his knees in the centre of the surrounding bushes. Throwing the Invisibility Cloak off his head (but warning Harry with a glance to leave it covering himself), he leaned over and patted the ground underneath the seating bench. To Harry, this seemed an odd thing to do, but then he realised that Lupin was groping for something in the long, tangled grass.

Harry recognised the bench. When he had been six years old, he had sat on it and watched Dudley play gleefully on the children's park opposite. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had taken it in turns to continuously push big 'Dudders' on the swings, catch him when he glided to the bottom of that tall slide, spin him endlessly on that big fast roundabout – whatever Dudley had demanded of them, really. Whilst Harry had been forced to sit on that bench immobile, unmoving, not joining in with the small pleasures of young children. Oh no, instead of enjoying the play area like a normal six-year-old, he had simply sat numbly, in a 'Prisoner of War' position as Uncle Vernon had sneeringly called it. It had been Harry's birthday, that day. And he occasionally questioned himself as to why he despised the Dursleys so much?   

Lupin finally found what it was that he had been searching for and withdrew what seemed to be an old, very dirty boot. Why would he want such –? Of course, it was a Portkey – not unlike the one that Harry had taken to the Quidditch World Cup with Hermione, Mr Weasley and company.

Lupin looked at his strange wristwatch and suddenly turned himself to face the other end of the park, which was shadowed in pitch blackness. Harry knew that it was in the direction of the Dursley's house, not that this bit of knowledge mattered, of course. He then heard Lupin say, not very loudly, but clearly, "_Accio_, trunk!" and noticed him raise his wand at the same time.

Harry was half-expecting to spot his trunk soaring through the air towards them, but of course – as Harry remembered when he heard a whoosh and a heavy flump beside him a few moments later – Lupin had placed some kind of Charm on the trunk to make it invisible.

"Just grab the trunk's handle, Harry," said Lupin, once he had lifted the Charm and caused it to reappear. He glanced at his watch yet again. "We're just in time, I think. Take hold of this boot – that's it… _Portus," he muttered, pointing his wand at the large boot. "Get ready, Harry – one… two… three –"_

***


End file.
